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“This is different,” Jian Li said. “It’s one thing to mess up on my own, and another when it involves a team. If I make a mistake by myself, I bear the consequences alone. But if it’s a team effort, everyone has to share that burden.”
“I can’t play instruments, I can’t sing. If I join, I’ll only increase the headcount without contributing anything helpful to you guys. You might even have to look after me instead. I’d have to divide my time and energy doing something I’m not good at, and I’d worry about dragging you all down. It benefits no one.” Jian Li looked at him. “It might even hurt our relationship because of this activity.”
“Besides, I have two exams next month, a part-time job, and classes—I don’t have time to train.”
Her words were logical and irrefutable.
Zhou Shubei looked at her and asked, “Are you afraid of delaying your exams or afraid of doing badly and trying to avoid it?”
Jian Li was stunned and didn’t answer.
Zhou Shubei gave a faint, slightly arrogant smile and laid it bare, “The CET-4 and Level 2 Computer Test aren’t hard for you. But participating in group activities is. You’re afraid of doing poorly, of making mistakes, of being unsure—so you choose not to do it at all. You want that 0.5 points, but you think you’re not as good as the others.”
Every word hit right in her heart.
Jian Li’s grip on her water cup tightened. “Yes, I don’t want to fail.”
Zhou Shubei dropped the candy wrapper and grinned with casual confidence. “You won’t lose.”
“…”
Back in the dorm, Jian Li kept thinking about what Zhou Shubei had said.
She really was afraid of failure. Given a choice between an uncertain path and a stable one, she’d always choose the stable one. When picking a major, she gave up the more secure literature major and went with robotic engineering—an entirely unfamiliar field.
She had never sung before. While her peers hummed along to MP3 songs, discussed the latest TV shows or anime, and chatted easily with just a sentence or two, she never joined any school events.
Zhang Wenxiu wouldn’t allow it.
“Do you get money or prizes for this? Will it help your final grades? Put that energy into studying and stop hanging out with people who get bad grades.”
She had always been top of her class but never received any praise.
When she came first, Jian Zhiguo would glance at her score, toss the paper on the table, and say, “Even if you’re good at studying, you’ll just end up being someone else’s woman someday.” Zhang Wenxiu would tell her not to be proud, to keep working harder, to do even better next time.
She could never meet their expectations. If she got a perfect score: “One perfect score means nothing. You need to get perfect scores every time.” If she slipped up, they’d jab her in the temple and scold her for being distracted and disappointing.
They’d yank open her drawer, force her to unlock her notebook and phone like she was a criminal, read her diary entries, and tear them to shreds, along with her self-esteem—into the trash.
After the scolding and beatings, she would clean up the mess while holding back tears. The big red Xs on her test papers felt branded on her skin, a reminder of how costly mistakes were.
She wasn’t allowed to play with her peers, talk to boys in class, or have hobbies outside of studying. She couldn’t take too much food at meals. If other kids wanted her things, she couldn’t refuse. She couldn’t talk back to criticism. She couldn’t ask questions while watching TV.
In first grade, she once handed a test paper to Zhang Wenxiu while a period drama was on TV. The female lead asked the male lead if he was jealous. Curious, Jian Li asked, “What does ‘jealous’ mean? Like the vinegar used in cooking?”
Zhang Wenxiu shoved the paper back in her hands and slapped her. “Don’t ask questions you shouldn’t ask. Go to your room and do your homework!”
She clutched the paper, holding back tears, not knowing which words might get her scolded or hit. She began to stay silent. She stopped responding even when punished. Then they’d complain she was like a mute, only good for rote learning.
She felt like she was full of flaws, inside and out.
But the truth was—she beat out tens of thousands of students in Xiyuan to place first, becoming the first in town in over a decade to get into Beicheng University. When her acceptance letter arrived, people came to her house to congratulate her. Even journalists and local officials showed up, encouraging her to study hard in Beicheng and reach out to the government if she needed help.
Dragging a suitcase by herself from Xiyuan to Beicheng, she felt lost, anxious, and desperate in this new city.
She wasn’t afraid of challenges. She was just afraid of losing face in front of Zhou Shubei.
Afraid she wouldn’t sing well. Afraid she’d hold them back. Afraid to see impatience in his eyes.
“Feel the heartbeat of he bravely.”
The female voice in her headphones read the final line of the passage. Jian Li’s pen paused slightly.
Bravely feel his/her heartbeat.
The bathroom door opened. Tan Xueying came out, fresh from her shower in cozy LinaBell pajamas.
“Yingying, is your group still short on people?” Jian Li asked.
“We are,” Tan said, drying her hair with a towel. “Song Lang still wants a duet. He’s had a dream of forming a band since he was a kid. Three people aren’t enough.” She looked at Jian Li. “Why?”
“I kind of want to give it a try,” Jian Li said. “But I’ve never sung before. I don’t know if I’m any good.”
“Really?!” Tan Xueying’s eyes lit up. “There’s nothing to worry about. It’s not some life-changing competition. It’s just about participating.”
Still cautious, Jian Li added, “Let me sing for you first. If it’s really bad, forget it.”
“Deal.”
Tan downloaded a karaoke app on her phone. Jian Li picked a song that used to play on the school radio after class. She took a deep breath and followed the onscreen cursor to sing.
When the song ended, Tan Xueying grabbed her in a hug, shaking her excitedly. “That was bad? You should be one of the top ten campus singers!”
Dizzy from the shaking, Jian Li listened to the playback.
It was much better than she expected.
“I’m adding you to the group chat right now! You’ll duet with Zhou Shubei, with my konghou and Song Lang’s drums—first place is ours!” Tan moved fast. Right after she spoke, Jian Li’s phone pinged with a new message.
The group chat was named “I’ve had a dream since I was a kid”, with four members.
[Song Lang]: Jian Li joined! Yes yes yes, my dream of a duet is coming true!
[Song Lang]: As the founder of this group, I warmly welcome Jian Li!
A flurry of party popper emojis followed. Zhou Shubei said nothing.
Jian Li typed:
[Jian Li]: I’m not that good at singing. If anything’s off during practice, just tell me directly.
Right after she sent it, Tan shared the audio recording they had just made.
[Already a Mature Adult]: Not that good? That was very good. I feel like we can win.
[Already a Mature Adult]: No, we will win!
Jian Li stared at the screen, opening and clenching her hand.
She didn’t know if Zhou Shubei had seen the message. Would he click to listen?
Song Lang and Tan’s chat pushed the audio higher up. Jian Li was about to put down her phone and return to her English listening practice when a message popped up from the cotton candy avatar.
[Humble as ever, Teacher Jian.]
He had quoted her own message.
Even through the screen, she could imagine him smiling lazily as he typed, brows relaxed.
Her heartbeat quickened. A private message alert appeared at the top.
[Zhou Shubei]: You sang really well.